Notes from Music Room Three
by Arisprite
Summary: A oneshot/drabble series for the Host Club and their antics. Written a while ago, and just now posting. Chapter 5: Considering what the club would do in an apocalypse...
1. Chapter 1

Tamaki, of course, insisted on commoner's style sleep overs. He'd drag the blankets from the perfectly made up guest bedroom in Kyouya's house, and lay them out on the floor by Kyouya's bed -ensuring that when Tamaki decided that it was time for them both to lay down, he'd have to step on him to get out of his bed. Kyouya flatly refused to sleep on the floor with the other boy.

Thing was, Tamaki was a morning person. He woke annoyingly early, bright and happy to start the day. This also meant that he got tired as early as 9:30, and though he'd make a valiant effort to keep himself awake, he'd have a hard time making it past 10:30. Kyouya could keep him up, if he tried. Kyouya could pester and key up Tamaki for another hour, and then he'd be awake until 2. And, oh what hilarious conversations that would induce. Tamaki was one of those _silly_ tired people. He'd spend hours just giggling and flapping his arms at Kyouya, while Kyouya enjoyed just laughing at him. This would go on until a night maid, or the security would tentatively knock, hearing the gasping, unfamiliar sounds of laughter from this room, and poke their head in. This would only set both of them off again.

Eventually, Tamaki would flag, and he'd crawl into his nest of bedclothes. At this point, if he asked, Kyouya was fifty/fifty on joining Tamaki down on the floor in his own pile, but he'd always regret it in the morning if he did. They'd lie there, and the quiet would stretch out, but every once in a while, Tamaki would say something...usually deep or thoughtful, and Kyouya would ponder in the dead of night what was it about this stupid boy that moved him so much. They'd speak of their innermost thoughts, dreams and memories. Tamaki would speak on his mother, and leaving France, and his fears that he'd never find a place here in Japan. Kyouya would refrain from replying that he had a place! It was no use to say so now; Tamaki wouldn't remember much in the morning. Kyouya too, would talk. He'd say how much he wanted more in life, his ambitions and plans. His own fears, too precious for anything but to be whispered in the darkness, into the ears of his best friend.

Eventually, Tamaki would drop off, and if Kyouya was on the floor with him, he would look over, and smile for a moment before sleeping as well. If he was in his own bed, Kyouya would roll away from him, and continue to ponder the strange musings of midnight, meaningful but elusive until thought blended into dream.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, Kaoru thought about what could have been, if any of them had loved Tamaki less. If Kyouya had moved when he'd realized his feelings, and snatched Haruhi away from them all before they'd even realized there was a competition. If Mori had been less shy and more open, or Honey less sugary and more sincere. If Hikaru had been more self aware, and wooed her before she'd discovered her love for Tamaki. If Kaoru had been less afraid. If there had never been that feeling that in gaining Haruhi, Tamaki would be lost. But, no. Tamaki reached out his hand, and Haruhi took his and none of theirs. And, in losing Haruhi, they all gained them both again. And, Kaoru knew that there wasn't a member of the host club who would change the outcome.


	3. Chapter 3

From the outside, there wasn't much to Kyouya Ootori. A loyal son. A smart student. A amiable friend and acquaintance. The true Kyouya was hidden, crouching and waiting behind tall walls. He was waiting for something specific- he knew not what. For his father to give him a chance, to impress his brothers, to be an adult and get away somewhat from the stifling confines of his father's place for him, to have a chance to really show his quality. He wasn't an idiot. He was born years after Fuyumi, a third son in a family of four, and the youngest child of a powerful businessman with an empire to maintain, not break apart. He knew he wasn't conceived on purpose- who would place him there deliberately? Not even his father was so cruel. But, he told himself it didn't matter. He'd stay in the lines, and do what was expected of him.

For years, his tentative plans rode on not stepping on his brother's toes, while trying desperately to relieve some of the internal pressure to succeed, to perform at the highest level. He spent his youth balanced on a knife: with possible failure and disappointment but the racing heart of actually _trying_ on one side, and achievement and respect from his family, but with the knowledge that he only did the bare minimum. He was stuck, waiting in agony for something to happen.

Then, a boy from France...an infuriating, annoying loud mouthed _boy_...changed everything.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a substitute teacher. Haruhi heard the announcement in class, and shrunk down in her seat. This was a _bad_ thing. On either side of her, the twins leaned forward in unison. Haruhi knew without looking that there was an identical evil leer on both of their faces.

"A substitute…" Hikaru said, lowly.

"How interesting…" Kaoru replied, under his breath.

"And just when we were getting bored." They finished together. Haruhi sunk lower, hoping against hope that she would be able to escape being drawn into their nefarious plotting, and therefore escape getting the evil eye from the new teacher, simply because she sat in the middle.

No such luck.


	5. Chapter 5

Warning: This one is rather different that the tone of Ouran, and the other ficlets here. I was considering what the host club members would be like if distaster struck, and this is the result. What if when they all were in America, and then an apocolypse of some sort hit? Rated T for blood and mentions of wounds and death.

* * *

Kaoru winced as Kyouya pulled the fabric tighter, roughly dragging the makeshift bandage against the jagged wound. The gun that had shot nearly through his arm had _not_ been loaded with the proper ammunition or powder; the bullet was slow and ripped a hole in his muscle almost the size of his thumb. Behind him, Hikaru dug his fingers into Kaoru's shoulders.

"Ah! Sempai, can't you be more gentle?" Kaoru panted, trying to hold still until the sharper pain receded. It was almost a useless hope; this was going to hurt for a long time.

"Need I remind you that I'm not actually a doctor." Kyouya replied icily. "Be grateful. I'm almost confident that I can stop the bleeding."

"Almost confident!" Hikaru squawked. Tamaki, coming up close behind them both put his arm around Hikaru's shoulders, both supporting and restraining, and Hikaru sucked in a breath and subsided.

This wasn't the first time any of them had been injured. It wouldn't be the last, not in the world they lived in now.

Mori, on Kyouya's other side, assisted the doctoring with steady fingers. His touch was softer, and warmer than Kyouya's cold fingers, and though he was less skillful, he never let nerves get to him like Kyouya did more and more in this screwed up world. Silently, he handed Kyouya bandages and rubbing alcohol. He was much more suited to the world as it had become than any of them. He looked at home with a katana in his hand, seated around a fire. Honey was a close second in adapting. For all his love of sweets and comforts, in times of need he did not complain. He was a protector and a teacher, and took care of their group in a way no one else did.

Kyouya was meant for the business floor, and thrived on predictability, in a world run by numbers, statistics, reputation and investments. This dog eat dog life, where survival depended on force and violence was slowly killing him. Stress made him a demon, and sleep didn't come easily most nights.

Tamaki, their host club king, was out of his element as well. Though he hadn't lost his stubborn optimism, his melodrama had given way to quiet. Their lives were too busy with trying to survive to go on zany adventures, and it was rare to see a true smile from him anymore.

Kaoru and Hikaru could perhaps be said to have fared the change better. The mentality of 'us or them' was easy to slip back into- this time including the host club as 'us' and the rest of the world as 'them'. There wasn't a night where one of them didn't have a nightmare, but Kaoru and Hikaru didn't admit to feeling too much guilt for the things they'd done to 'them'. And those things, he knew objectively, were awful.

Haruhi, surprisingly, was among the better adjusted. Perhaps, Kaoru shouldn't have been surprised. The commoner's practicality transferred well to learning to survive, living off the land, and defending herself. She did grow quieter, and Kaoru missed hearing her laugh. Even next to the boss, she was withdrawn.

Truth be told, none of them were doing well, but that was probably only to be expected. After all, it was the actual apocalypse.

Once Kaoru's wound was closed with nothing less than expert stitches (for all that Kyouya protested that he wasn't a doctor, he was an Ootori, and they were well trained in first aid. Maybe Ootori-sama was -justifiably- paranoid?) Hikaru led Kaoru over to his bedroll to let him sleep. Kaoru knew his twin wished he could lie down next to him to stroke his hair, and try to take some of the pain away, but there was way too much to be done. They had to secure camp, and be sure they didn't lead anything or anyone after them. And, not that he'd tell Hikaru this, but there was simply too much pain to be soothed by hair stroking. They'd run out of pain killers the last time someone had gotten hurt (Haruhi had a slice across her palm that had bothered her for weeks) and the antibiotics they'd gathered wouldn't last long either. All Kaoru could do was lie still, and hope some would fade away. Not having Hikaru over his head and watching was actually a relief. He didn't want him to know how much it hurt.

And _damn_, did it hurt. Not only the initial gunshot wound, which had felt like a ice and hot iron through his bicep, and sending shockwaves of pain through his whole body, but then the fleeing through the New England woods away from the hunters who of course gave chase until the hosts could get away. And _then_, to top it all off, Kyouya had to dig out the bullet with his sharp knife and slightly shaky hands. Yeah, he was hurting. Could his arm just fall off, maybe? That would hurt less, he thought.


End file.
